Baby Girl | Ringo Starr ✅

24

Ritchie laced his hand with mine and a wide smile hung itself on my face.

"I've never been to one of these," he admitted as he led me through the doors of the clinic and over to the front desk. "Good morning," he said to the receptionist, "Mrs Alessandra Starkey?"

I beamed at that name.

How badly I wanted it to be official, but I didn't know where we would be able to make it so because of our... relationship.

"Just take a seat, I've signed you in." The receptionist gestured to two empty seats.

He led me over to the seats and sat me down before he sat himself in his own seat.

"Are you excited?" He asked me quietly, not wanting to disturb anybody else who was in the waiting room with us.

I nodded, humming in reply. "I cannot wait to just hold our little baby."

He nodded in agreement, about to reply when our names were called, or rather - mine was. "Mrs Starkey?"

Ritchie and I got up and followed the doctor, a different one from last time.

He gestured for me to sit on the bed in the middle of the room and then asked me to lie down and pull my shirt up.

"I-is that n-normal?" Ritchie asked me quietly, leaning closer to my ear so that the doctor wouldn't hear him ask me.

I nodded. "It's so they can move the stick over my belly," I told him, suddenly feeling like an adult - more so than I had before - because here my boyfriend was, beside me, while we went for our second baby scan - and our first one together. If it wasn't before, the whole situation just became very real for me.

Ritchie nodded and helped me to get comfortable on the bed and then he sat in the seat beside me, taking my hand in his and squeezing it tightly.

"Now," the doctor said with a wide smile, "this is very exciting for me, because as a child, I was a huge fan of The Beatles -"

Ritchie cut him off, chuckling uncomfortably. "Make sure everything is alright with my wife and baby and I'll sign an autograph." He teased.

My heart skipped a beat. He'd just referred to me as his wife. I loved how that term sent a thrill through me, and how it made me feel like he was being protective of both me and our child.

God, I want to be your wife so badly, I thought.

"Thank you!" The doctor beamed and then turned to set up the monitor, quickly getting started and rubbing the gel across my stomach using the ultrasound wand. A picture appeared on the screen almost immediately and my heart skipped another beat.

There, in very grainy black and white, was our baby.

"And the heartbeat..." the doctor flipped a switch and suddenly a very faint sound could be heard... that of our baby's heartbeat. That meant that it was okay, and it was alive.

I sobbed and Ritchie held me, tears silently falling down his face as well.

"Oh wow..." Ritchie wiped my tears and then his own using the handkerchief which he always kept in the pocket of his trousers, monogrammed with his initials, R.S.

"Would you like to know the gender of your child?"

Ritchie and I looked at each other for several seconds, both of us silently wrestling with ourselves and the other before we turned back to the doctor and said, "no," in chorus.

The doctor stopped moving the wand around my skin and sat back in his chair for a few moments, listening very intently to our little one's heartbeat.

"What?" I whispered, my heart in my mouth as I already knew that there was something wrong from the way that the doctor's face had drained of colour.

"Y-your baby is tachycardic -"

"What the bloody Hell does that mean?" Ritchie asked in an authoritative yet fearful, saddened tone.

"It means that their heart rate is abnormally fast..."

"W-will it...?" I couldn't manage to finish that question. It was too much. "W-will it m-mean...?"

"No," Ritchie reassured me, squeezing at my hand to show me that he was still there, "of course not." He turned to the doctor, "right?"

The doctor bit his lip before he said, "I can't promise anything. In medicine, things happen all of the time which are unprecedented... but there are things you can do to reduce the fetus' heart rate -"

"Like what?" Ritchie ordered.

"Resting. Not getting out of bed most days, except to go to the bathroom. Not getting stressed - Mr Starkey, if you have something which may stress your wife, I would recommend not telling her or keeping it from her. It would be for the health of both your wife, and your baby." The doctor paused, "I also think that it would be beneficial to have an elected caesarian-section -"

"Cut the baby out?" I whimpered, "b-but the scar, and -"

"Your baby's life might depend on this operation... Mrs Starkey, you're three months and one week now - that means that in around twenty-six weeks, you will be at full term. However, I'd recommend having the caesarian-section about a month early, so in twenty-one weeks."

"Oh my..." I bit my lip. This was a lot to take in.

"We could book it in now...?" The doctor took out a diary and a pen and turned to Ritchie and I. "In twenty-one weeks, it will be late April. Would you like your baby on a particular day?"

"Um..." I looked to Ritchie, "do we?"

He shook his head, "I don't think that either of us are fussed, doctor. Maybe a Sunday?"

I laughed at the absurd thing he had suggested, but a quick look from Ritchie made me be quiet. I pursed my lips and turned back to the doctor.

"The last Sunday of the month would be lovely."

"The 27th?" Ritchie and I nodded and the doctor pencilled it in. "Come here at eight AM. I will perform the operation myself. Mrs Starkey, barring that there are no complications, you'll be holding your baby as soon as he or she is out. Mr Starkey, you will be able to be in the room - once again, barring no complications."

"D-do you expect t-there to be c-complications?" I stuttered, suddenly wondering if complications were usual in a c-section, and whether or not I would come out alive, or if I would leave my beloved with a tiny baby to look after.

"No."

"27th at eight AM it is, then." Ritchie said brightly considering the slightly touchy conversation which had just passed. The doctor nodded, printed out two copies of the sonogram and handed them to either of us.

"I'll see you in about three months. Happy Christmas."

Ritchie took the diary from the doctor and his pen and turned to the date which our child was to be born on.

"W-what are you d-doing?" I asked him, using tissues to wipe my belly of the gel.

But Ritchie ignored me. Instead, he scribbled his autograph and handed the diary back to the beaming doctor.

"See you soon."

Ritchie took my hand, helped me off of the bed and then we left.